“Twelve years.”
Ford's eyes narrowed.
“Combat?”
Arthur looked at him.
“Some.”
“What unit?”
“That isn't relevant to the traffic stop.”
There it was.
The first boundary.
Clayton Ford did not like boundaries unless he placed them himself.
His jaw tightened.
“You were speeding.”
“Yes.”
Ford looked surprised.
“You admit it?”
“Three miles over.”
“How do you know exactly?”
“Vehicle telemetry.”
Arthur looked toward the dashboard.
“Continuous logging.”
Ford glanced into the truck.
Then at Arthur.
“Fancy.”
“Useful.”
Ford stared.
Riggs finally spoke.
“Sheriff, we can just issue the warning.”
Ford did not look at him.
“You smell that?”
Riggs hesitated.
Arthur already knew what was coming.
“No,” Riggs said.
Ford's head turned.
“No?”
Riggs swallowed.
“No, sir.”
Ford looked back at Arthur.
Arthur said nothing.
Ford leaned toward the window and inhaled theatrically.
“I smell marijuana.”
Arthur almost laughed.
There had never been marijuana in the vehicle.
Not once.
He said:
“No, Sheriff.”
Ford's face changed.
“What?”
“There is no marijuana in this truck.”
“You calling me a liar?”
“I am telling you what is inside my vehicle.”
Ford stepped back.
“Out.”
Arthur kept his hands visible.
“Am I being asked to exit because of the speeding violation or because you claim to smell marijuana?”
Ford pointed toward the shoulder.
“Out.”
Arthur knew the law.
He also knew the difference between winning an argument and surviving an encounter.
He opened the door.
Exited.
Ford immediately put a hand against Arthur's chest.
Arthur did not move.
Ford looked up.
Arthur was taller than he expected.
Six feet two.
Lean but broad.
At thirty-six, he still carried the physical habits of a man who had once been required to move fast under heavy equipment.
Ford removed his hand slowly.
“Hands on the truck.”
Arthur complied.
Pat-down.
Waist.
Pockets.
Ankles.
Nothing.
Ford stepped back.
“Any weapons?”
“No.”
“Military guy with no gun?”
Arthur looked over his shoulder.
“Not everyone needs one to feel important.”
Riggs's eyes widened.
Ford's face reddened.
“Cute.”
Arthur looked forward again.
Ford walked to the passenger side.
Reached through the open window.
Arthur turned.
“I do not consent to a search.”
Ford ignored him.
Arthur repeated:
“I do not consent to a search of the vehicle.”
Ford opened the passenger door.
Riggs shifted.
“Sheriff.”
Ford rounded on him.
“What?”
“You said odor.”
“I smell it.”
Riggs looked toward Arthur.
Then the truck.
He did not answer.
Arthur noticed.
Not courage.
But uncertainty.
That might matter later.
Ford began searching.
Console.